


let loose and love all

by aditlep6



Series: quiet, tender, sincere [3]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Anal Sex, Chaotic Verse, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Trans Male Character, Trans Oma Kokichi, a little phenomenon i like to call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aditlep6/pseuds/aditlep6
Summary: Checking the time — almost noon, usually when Saihara wakes up on his day off — he steels himself and puts the bag on the kitchen counter, trying to remember Iruma’s mortifying instructions. He needs to wash it, make sure the other hardware is safe and comfortable, and pray that Saihara doesn’t wake up before he finishes his preparations.Well, not before he has a little of his own fun with it first.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: quiet, tender, sincere [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112006
Comments: 13
Kudos: 74





	let loose and love all

**Author's Note:**

> this one's just pure debauchery 
> 
> best read along with the previous fics in the [series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112006) — the more trans-friendly terms ouma refers to his genitals with are outlined in detail there, along with small plot things!
> 
> small tw: implied (past) gender dysphoria
> 
> title is a lyric from problems by mother mother
> 
> enjoy!

Ouma’s phone buzzes incessantly under his pillow, an alarm set to wake him up but not his boyfriend. He rushes to shut it off just in case and peers over his shoulder. Saihara’s soft face is still relaxed and peaceful, breathing slowly against the back of Ouma’s neck and tickling the fine hairs there. It should be illegal for Ouma to wiggle out of Saihara’s warm embrace, but he does it anyway.

Saihara is a heavy sleeper, so he isn’t too worried about sneaking out today, but they always sleep in together on Sundays, and the guilt of breaking tradition plagues him. He reminds himself of his purpose but steals a peck from Saihara’s lips to hold himself over until he returns. 

Of course, Saihara stirs at that, and Ouma holds his breath to see if he’ll wake up fully. “Shh, go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.” He’s not sure if Saihara even heard him. It’s vague enough that he’ll probably think he needed to go to the bathroom or something. Saihara curls in on himself like he misses whatever escaped his arms and settles back into his deep sleep. One last pang of guilt mixed with anticipation runs through Ouma before he tears his gaze away, taking the clothing he set out for himself the night before and tiptoeing to the bathroom as not to risk disturbing Saihara any more than he has. 

He doesn’t need to look nice to run this errand. In fact, he wears a hat and sunglasses in the off chance he runs into someone he knows. He doesn’t want to be recognized. Patting down his pockets, he checks for everything he needs: change for the bus fare, the spare key to Saihara’s apartment, his cell phone, and the wad of wrinkled bills he’s been hoarding for this occasion. It’s the exact amount he needs, no more and no less. If the price has somehow risen since he asked Iruma about it a few days ago, then he’ll have to barter. He’s not coming home empty handed. 

_Home._ He’s been calling it that a lot lately, hasn’t he?

Actually purchasing the item is the easy part of his plan. He has to go a bit out of his way to the seedier part of the city, but it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with it. He hands the cashier exact change and doesn’t take the receipt. The transaction is so simple and confidential that he mentally kicks himself for being worried about it. The packaging is discreet, the bag the store gives him even more so. He still clutches it tightly to his chest on the bus ride back as if everyone is acutely aware of what he just purchased. 

He reenters the apartment cautiously. If Saihara is awake now, which he shouldn’t be, he has to resort to his backup plan, which is a chain of incoherent lies and excuses so bizarre that Saihara hopefully just drops it and doesn’t notice Ouma sneaking a bag under the bed. Luckily, Saihara still seems to be asleep, the air quiet and the coffee machine untouched. Ouma’s plan is still on track. 

Checking the time — almost noon, usually when Saihara wakes up on his day off — he steels himself and puts the bag on the kitchen counter, trying to remember Iruma’s mortifying instructions. He needs to wash it first, make sure the other hardware is safe and comfortable, and pray that Saihara doesn’t wake up before he finishes his preparations.

He can’t deny the reality of the situation any longer once he begins tearing open the packaging. He’s been working odd jobs, tucking away the earnings, and plotting a Sunday morning excursion to a sex shop to buy a strap-on so he can fuck his boyfriend. 

Well, not before he has a little of his own fun with it first. 

It’s purple, of course, and a high-grade silicone. It didn’t come cheap. It’s not realistic, just a vague imitation of the real thing. It’s a decent size as well, maybe a bit shorter than Saihara, but just as thick. He pushes aside thoughts of his boyfriend and examines the harness. There’s a metal ring to hold the flared base of the dildo, connected to several adjustable black faux-leather straps he’s supposed to step into and cinch around himself. He runs his fingers along the straps and the seams in them to make sure they won’t dig into his skin. There are no harsh points, but with any rigorous movement, he might expect some bruising in the morning. He doesn’t mind that thought at all.

He washes the dildo in the kitchen sink, which has been so kindly emptied and cleaned by Saihara, since every time Ouma tries to wash a dish he “accidentally” breaks it. This time, he’s taking it seriously, even if the motions he has to make over the silicone to ensure it’s thoroughly scrubbed and rinsed are embarrassing. He pats it dry with paper towels and sets it on a clean portion of the counter, standing it up and allowing an immature giggle at the comical way it stands. 

There’s a little paper guide with pictures included in the packaging for how to properly wear the harness, but he didn’t sit through Iruma’s detailed lecture to resort to an instruction booklet. She recommended this one in particular, and he has a good memory. He’s not worried about the setup, just eager to get to the main event. 

There’s a stash of lube and condoms under the couch that Ouma placed there to encourage more living room trysts. It’s been convenient a few times, but not too much to deplete the supplies. He takes the dildo and the harness with him, standing the former up on the coffee table and draping the latter over the arm of the couch. He lays a dark, easily washable blanket over the back of the couch and the cushions, just in case. Dumping a handful condoms on the table and snatching the lube, he sits on the couch and thinks of where to begin. Pants would be a good place to start. Maybe boxers, too. 

He takes both off and discards them on the floor. Propping up a couch pillow against the armrest, he leans back on it and situates himself to be as comfortable as he can get half-naked in an open room, facing Saihara’s bedroom door. 

Now comes the most difficult part of his plan — he doesn’t really masturbate, and never has with a toy. His horny adolescence was spent being repulsed by his own anatomy, but even as frustration won out over the years, he lacked the privacy and drive to do much about it. It wasn’t until he got regular testosterone treatments that he began exploring his body in earnest, but even then, he wanted to share it with someone he could trust, which he has undoubtedly found in Saihara. Saihara isn’t small and neither is the dildo, but he’s always been so patient and careful to make sure Ouma was sufficiently prepared to take him. 

_Saihara, Saihara, Saihara._ It’s weird enough that he’s masturbating on his couch in the room adjacent to where he’s sleeping, with a toy that Ouma plans to use on him in return. He convinces himself that thinking about Saihara while jerking off would be crossing some moral line. 

He relies on touch to get started instead. He doesn’t like his own stomach, so he skips over that, trailing a hand up to his chest under his shirt. He always finds his scars before he finds anything sensitive or pleasurable. They’re not very obvious, and he isn’t repulsed by them, but they’re just a reminder of what was.

Foregoing gaining any satisfaction from that, he goes lower instead, his fingers trailing past his navel and down to his mound, which is coated in coarse, unmanaged hair. It used to be light and fine before his testosterone treatments but became a source of pride when it filled out. He’s been meaning to take care of it, but Saihara doesn’t seem to mind, or at least hasn’t mentioned it. He sighs, all that much more critical of his body and no closer to pleasure. This is why he doesn’t masturbate. 

Not ready to give up yet, he touches lower, the skin of his outer folds sensitive, but the feeling of his own fingers there foreign. He wishes Saihara were the one touching him, parting him with his fingers and maybe his tongue, holding Ouma’s legs open-

A pulse of heat runs through him and his touch becomes more sensitive. There’s no way he can get through this without thinking of Saihara; it’s like he’s been broken in, made only to fit his boyfriend. The thought makes him sound like a cocksleeve, which should be humiliating, but not if he’s Saihara’s. He’d never refer to Ouma like that, but Ouma wouldn’t mind if he did.

His fingers dip lower and he doesn’t even realize it until they brush against his hardening cock, eliciting an involuntary full-body shiver. If he wants to prepare for the dildo, he can’t focus there for too long, or else he’ll get too desperate for orgasm. He allows himself to glide the tips of two fingers up and down the underside of his cock for a few moments, twitching at the intense stimulation, and spreads his legs a little wider to make room for his hand. 

Eventually he continues lower, teasing the sensitive skin of his inner folds and circling around his entrance. He’s not aroused enough for any wetness to be there yet, which is what the lube is for, but he hasn’t settled on what pace he wants to take this at. He can be rough with himself and power through with dirty thoughts and lube or he can take it slow and risk Saihara walking out before he’s even at the fun part yet. 

The only thing Ouma hasn't meticulously planned is Saihara's reaction to seeing him like this. There's the potential of Saihara being disgusted, shocked, revolted. They didn't exactly talk the idea of a strap through. They had _a_ talk, one where Saihara admitted a few things about himself: wanting to be penetrated, having a thing for size, liking being dominant or dominated. Ouma didn't contribute, mostly out of shock from Saihara's confessions. He had yet to be dominant or rough with Ouma, and Ouma wanted that more than _anything._ He was hoping the volition he showed in buying a strap and giving it a trial run would not only prove that all was forgiven in regards to Ouma's outburst about a strap during sex, but spur Saihara on to be more dominant, and show that he could take it. 

The mere thought of Saihara being rough with him is enough for a trickle of wetness to slip out where Ouma's fingers are teasing his own entrance. He chases that thought with slight desperation, wondering how it would feel if Saihara ripped the dildo away and replaced it with his own cock. Having something inside him isn't the single most pleasurable thing for him, sometimes it can even make him uncomfortable, but the psychological pleasure of using his body to make Saihara feel good is what makes him crave it so often.

The thought of Saihara over him — or even under him, he’s not picky — is arousing enough that he can slip a finger inside without much resistance. He can’t reach far enough down on himself for the angle to be as pleasurable as when Saihara does it to him. Deciding he’s reached an impasse, he withdraws and reaches blindly for the lube. He doesn’t use much, out of fear of not having enough for Saihara later and having to go look for more. He squeezes a dollop on two fingers just to speed the stretching of his entrance along, swirling it around before pushing in. There’s a slight stretch, but it’s still pleasurable, especially if he imagines it isn’t himself doing it. 

His cock is beginning to throb with inattention, but although his entrance is responsive to his touches, it’s still not enough. He decides to kick it up a notch, putting a leg up over the back of the couch and exposing himself to the empty room all that much more. The air is chill against his heated skin and he wants more of it, pulling his shirt up to rest under his arms and exposing his stomach and chest. It’s filthy and he wants Saihara to see it, but he’s not ready yet.

Conjuring some of his nastier fantasies, he gets rougher with himself, thrusting two slick fingers in and out as deep as he can get them. On the harsher strokes, the heel of his palm grinds against his cock, shooting jolts of inconsistent pleasure throughout him. He loves coming while something is inside him, so he’s determined to work himself open before giving himself what he really wants. 

He imagines Saihara’s lips on his neck, sucking and biting marks he can’t hide even if he wanted to. How his mouth would travel lower, and lower, leaving a trail of red and bruised skin in its wake, turning to tender licks and kisses once he got to his folds. He’d use his mouth on Ouma like he was hungry for it, like he’d been thinking about it all day, unrelenting until Ouma was trembling helplessly around him and tugging on dark locks of hair like a lifeline. 

Soon enough, Ouma can hear his own slickness with every thrust. The sound used to be repulsive to him until Saihara mentioned how much he loved it. Now, it’s an indicator that he’s ready for the next step.

He withdraws his fingers from himself, wiping the wetness on his bare thigh to snatch the dildo and a condom from the coffee table. He rips open the packet and rolls it on the toy with practiced ease, discarding the wrapper on the floor somewhere, and searches for wherever he lost the lube on the couch in his lust-fueled haze. He retrieves it and slathers the toy with an ample amount, sitting up higher against the pillow to have better leverage. He clutches the flared base in his fist and holds himself open with his other hand, an unnecessary action that helps him pretend he’s presenting himself to the imaginary Saihara that’s watching him. 

He has no intentions of taking it too fast, opting to push in and pull back out in small increments to spread lube and stretch himself the rest of the way. The slow grind is made easier by picturing Saihara teasing him with his cock, barely pushing in just to withdraw and watch Ouma squirm and beg for more. The imagery speeds the process along, and before he knows it, his knuckles are brushing against his folds, thrusting in and out at a torturous pace, the fullness making his breath hitch and his skin break into a sheen of sweat. 

His willpower finally snaps and his free hand finds his cock, rubbing in small circles to relieve the immense tension. It’s nearly impossible to keep two separate rhythms with either hand, so he tries to keep them in time with each other, but it’s too much, and this is where he was supposed to find a way to wake Saihara up so he can see him come all over the toy, but he’s so _close_ and all he can think about is the absolutely debauched way he’s spread open and fucking himself on Saihara’s couch-

The bedroom door opens and Saihara stumbles out in a sleep shirt and boxers, making his daily beeline for the coffee pot, but he must sense the presence of someone else in the room. He turns his head towards the couch and settles his sleepy gaze on his boyfriend.

Upon getting caught, Ouma whimpers and comes hard with the toy buried deep inside him, trembling along with the stuttering ministrations of his own hands.

He regains his composure in record speed, greeting the wide-eyed Saihara with a bright smile. “Morning, sleepyhead! It’s about _time,_ y’know, I got this all set up for you, but you were just so cute sleeping, I just couldn’t wake my beloved up on his day off! So I-”

Saihara cuts Ouma’s nervous rambling off, whether he can tell how nervous Ouma is or not. “O-Ouma-kun, you, _wow,_ I…”

It isn’t exactly the reaction Ouma was expecting, and his own eyes widen as Saihara makes his way over to the couch. Sudden shyness overwhelms him, dirty things much easier when he’s actively horny instead of having just come. Before Saihara gets close, his eyes find the straps of the harness hanging off the couch with a flash of recognition. 

“I-Is that… did you… but I thought…”

“You thought wrong! I just needed to make sure it wouldn’t be too much for my beloved, since, y’know, you’re next.” Saihara’s face reddens so quickly that Ouma can’t contain his laugh as he begins pulling the toy out of himself.

Saihara is seated on the couch in an instant, his hand on Ouma’s wrist in a vice grip. “Who said you could stop?”

Ouma’s eyebrows raise in surprise and he checks Saihara’s face. He looks much more hesitant than he sounded, like he’s asking for Ouma’s approval. He pauses in obedience, but half of the fun is teasing back. “Aw, but I just came! Saihara-chan wouldn’t torture me like that, would he?”

“If the toy feels so much better than me, then why shouldn’t you come on it a few more times?” He uses the grip he has on Ouma’s wrist to push the toy back in ever so slowly and creates a rhythm of a deep in and out grind. The drag causes a shameful noise to slip out of Ouma’s throat, and he tries to bring his leg back from over the couch so he isn’t so exposed, but Saihara’s hand finds the inside of his knee, holding him open. 

Ouma has to steady his breathing before snapping back, “Is Saihara-chan jealous of a toy? If you must know, it’s nothing compared to the real thing.” 

“Then why bother? Are you that much of a cockslut?” Ouma watches with rapt attention as Saihara gets up on his knees and positions himself between Ouma’s spread legs, dragging the toy farther out on every stroke. Ouma has to tear his gaze away and turn his head, the sudden reality of the situation getting to be too much. “Hey,” Saihara whispers, and Ouma turns his head back but doesn’t meet his eyes. “Is this okay?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Ouma hisses and tries to push his hips down on the toy moving in him. “Don’t you wanna be inside me? I wouldn’t want to be too boring for my beloved.” He says it with a smirk, since Saihara’s excitement is evident through the growing tent in his boxers, but he does really want Saihara to fuck him for real.

“I can be inside you at the same time as the toy,” Saihara says plainly, and Ouma hesitates, not sure what he’s implying by that. Saihara carefully removes the toy without warning, drawing a surprised and frustrated whine from Ouma, and holds it out for Ouma to take. “Get on your knees on the floor. You can ride it while you blow me.”

Ouma moans and tries to think of a response, but he’s already crawling down to the shaggy carpet of the living room floor, feeling a tinge of soreness from having the toy inside of him for so long. Still, he wants it back, and snags it from Saihara to place between his legs. He sinks down on it easily, maybe too fast, but he plans on using both hands to work on Saihara, so the toy being inside of him is an afterthought. 

Saihara sits on the edge of the couch and pulls down his boxers just enough to reveal his erection, which always intimidates Ouma when he’s this close. Ouma’s mouth is small and shallow, and he’s quite insecure about whether he’s any good at using it on Saihara, but Saihara has never complained and continues to ask for more. 

He laces his fingers in Ouma’s hair and guides him closer, but doesn’t tug. Ouma takes the base in hand and starts by licking a long stripe from his fingers to the tip, swirling his tongue and teasing the slit. Saihara’s hold tightens but not painfully, and he tilts his hips forward. Ouma runs his tongue around the shaft, trying to get it slick so his mouth glides easier. He licks every piece of exposed skin and finally takes the tip into his mouth as deep as he can without gagging. Saihara grunts and shifts, and Ouma takes that as encouragement to hollow his cheeks and bob his head, holding the base with one hand and giving the shaft attention with the other. 

Saihara’s fingers slip out of his hair and he touches the backs of Ouma’s hands lightly. “You look so good like this, baby. You should touch yourself. I’ll guide your mouth.” Ouma looks up through his eyelashes and Saihara must sense his apprehension. “I’ll only touch your cheeks. You can pull back whenever you want. Is that okay?”

Ouma hums and lets Saihara’s cock rest against his lips. He wasn’t thinking of his own pleasure, but he decides to have fun with it, reaching around his thigh to grip the base of the toy and between his legs with his other hand to rub at his own cock. It’s still a little sensitive from his earlier orgasm, but that’ll make it easier to come once more.

Saihara holds Ouma’s cheeks in his palms gently as promised, pulling him as far down as Ouma would go himself, setting a new rhythm and letting Ouma do as he pleases with his mouth. With a firm grip on the base of the toy, Ouma rocks himself on it and uses his own wetness to glide his fingers against his cock. Ouma only has to focus on himself as long as he keeps his jaw relaxed and his trust in Saihara’s hands, literally. 

Saihara begins pushing him a bit deeper than he would go himself, but he breathes through his nose and focuses on the reverent touch Saihara has on his face, and he finds that he can handle it without discomfort. Saihara knows how to test Ouma’s limits better than he does. Ouma runs his tongue along the bottom of the shaft every time his head is pulled back, exploring every ridge and sucking like he’s trying to get Saihara to stay in his mouth. The push and pull prompts noises from both of them, the vibrations from Ouma’s throat clearly having an effect on Saihara. 

By the time his jaw begins to ache from taking Saihara’s sheer size, he’s shakily approaching his second orgasm, and Saihara is flushed and panting above him. “I’m close,” Saihara’s breathy warning comes sooner than expected, and Ouma speeds up the touch on himself, but only gives Saihara a hard parting suck before pulling back and closing his eyes. 

A hand leaves his face and he assumes Saihara is stroking himself to finish. Once he feels the first spurt of come hit his cheek, he shivers and comes around the toy, not as intensely as the first time, but it’s more satisfying to share it with Saihara. Another hot spurt lands on his lip, and his tongue darts out to taste it instinctively, but the bitter taste reminds him why he doesn’t swallow. Saihara doesn’t seem to mind, finally coming down and looking at Ouma through half-lidded eyes, his dominating demeanor gone.

“W-Was that okay? Did you come? I can use my mouth, o-or my hand-”

“ _Shuichi._ ” Ouma removes the toy from himself with a shiver and peels the condom off, making sure it’s inside out before tossing it aside on the floor somewhere. Saihara seems scandalized, but notices the ropes of come glistening on Ouma’s face and rushes to take his shirt off to wipe at it.

Ouma sets the toy on the coffee table and snatches the shirt from Saihara, wiping his own face off without ceremony and dropping it at their feet. He stands over Saihara and pushes on his shoulders so he settles back into the couch, leaning over him and smirking. “I hope you didn’t think we were done yet.” Saihara’s eyes widen and he leans up for a kiss, but Ouma dodges. “I didn’t get to kiss my beloved while he was using me, so why should I return the favor? Turn around.” He does, his boxers down around his thighs. He’s on his knees and leaning over the back of the couch, his ass presented to Ouma, who grabs the lube.

“I-I touched myself in the shower last night,” Saihara whispers, “so you can be a little rougher with me.” 

Ouma wasn’t planning on a third orgasm, not even sure if he’s capable of it, but he’ll have to if Saihara keeps talking like _that._ He’s fingered Saihara before but was only confident to get up to two fingers. He’ll definitely need at least three if he’s going to take the strap, and Ouma’s fingers are small. He coats two fingers in lube but only plans on using one at first. 

He admires the expanse of the pale, exposed skin of Saihara’s back, wanting nothing more than to leave kisses and marks all over it, but he’s too impatient. He trails the back of his hand down the column of his spine anyway, all the way past his lower back and to his entrance. He swirls one finger there, spreading more lube where there was a little left over from the night before, and pushes in up to one knuckle. Saihara tenses around him briefly, but Ouma rubs his hip with his free hand to calm him down. He relaxes and Ouma pushes in just a bit more, enough to start a rhythm and going deeper in small increments. 

The rhythm isn’t very gentle, since Saihara is more stretched from what he did to himself, but it doesn’t seem to be enough — Saihara reaches behind himself and easily slips in one of his fingers alongside Ouma’s. “Harder, please.”

The request is so, so tempting, but Ouma pulls on Saihara’s wrist, taking his own finger out as well. “Saihara-chan needs to be patient or else I won’t fuck him at all. I want you sideways, face on the pillow.” He pinches Saihara’s ass but backs off so he can readjust, lying his head and shoulders on the pillow and tucking his knees beneath him, but not before kicking off his boxers and tossing them aside. “Good boy. I’ll pick up the pace, but you need to behave.”

He slips in two fingers all the way, beginning an unrelenting pace. Saihara gasps into the pillow and immediately tries to rock back against Ouma’s hand, but Ouma is expecting it and makes sure his grip on Saihara’s hip is tight. Unable to move, he makes up for it in hot, pathetic little noises against the pillow, burying his face. Ouma reaches around him and tugs harshly on his hair, rolling his head to the side and relishing in the way Saihara’s breathing falters. “I wanna see that pretty expression of yours. Don’t hide your face from me.” Saihara nods and doesn’t roll his head back, but closes his eyes. Ouma would be imploding with lust and shame if he were in Saihara’s position, so he lets him be shy.

After scissoring his two fingers inside of Saihara for a while, he pulls them out and coats them in lube once more, along with a third. “Tell me if there’s any pain,” he instructs, pushing three in slower than before. Saihara tenses at the initial intrusion but Ouma pets his thigh until he relaxes. It’s easy to slip in the rest of the way afterwards. He stays still for a few moments to make sure Saihara has adjusted, but it’s cut short when Saihara starts rocking his hips back yet again with a desperate whine. He stops before Ouma can chastise him, so he takes the hint and resumes thrusting. 

The noises Saihara is making are downright obscene, and Ouma wants to hear more of them. He starts aiming for that spot, curling his fingers on every thrust in, and knows he has it when Saihara shouts and his legs tremble. He starts babbling nonsensically, the only things Ouma can understand are his name along with some begging. “Ouma-kun, Ouma-kun, _please,_ I’m ready, p-please…”

“You want me to put my dick in you and you won’t even call me by my first name? Rude, Shuichi.” He pulls his fingers out anyway and steps off the couch to take the harness, waiting for Saihara’s reaction. He’s quiet for a few moments, probably contemplating. It gives Ouma sufficient time to separate the straps properly, step in, and slip the toy in the ring before making the final adjustments. It stands proudly against his pelvis once the straps are cinched tight, maybe a little too tight, but he likes the way they bite into his skin. 

“ _Kokichi,_ ” Saihara murmurs into the pillow. His first name catches Ouma off guard. Very few people say it, and it sounds foreign in Saihara’s mouth, but it’s exhilarating nonetheless. “Kokichi, please. _Fuck me._ ”

Ouma hurries to roll another condom onto the toy and slather it with all the remaining lube in the bottle. Some drips onto the blanket, but that’s what it’s there for, and he positions himself behind Saihara without caring about the mess. Saihara’s hips are angled too high, so he presses on the small of his back to lower him, his knees spreading farther apart. “Is this position okay, beloved?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Saihara snaps, “please.”

Ouma places the tip of the toy at Saihara’s entrance and holds his hip with his other hand, beginning a painfully slow press inside. He’s attuned to every breath and twitch Saihara makes, watching for any pain or discomfort. All he hears are pleased huffs and sighs. He pauses once the toy is past Saihara’s rim and waits for him to adjust.

“It’s good,” Ouma hears. “Kokichi, please. I need you.”

“I’m right here,” He consoles, only a little worried. This isn’t a very romantic way of getting penetrated for the first time, and Saihara is taking it surprisingly well. Ouma is almost jealous. He pets Saihara’s back as he pushes the rest of the way in, his hips flush against Saihara’s ass. He lets himself wallow in the fact that this isn’t really his cock and he’s not really inside of Saihara for only a moment before brushing it off. This was always about Saihara and his pleasure. 

“Move,” Saihara says. The tone is more of a request than a demand. Ouma obliges anyway, rolling his hips in small circles, not pulling out too far just yet. Saihara moans and buries his face in the pillow, but seems to think better of it at the last moment and makes sure Ouma can see the side of his face.

“Good,” Ouma praises and pulls out a bit farther. He rocks in and out, careful not to move too fast. “So good for me.”

Saihara nods and clenches his fists in the blanket beneath him, moving his hips back. Ouma opts not to stop him and picks up the pace instead. The squelch of every movement proves that Saihara is adequately prepared, and the longer Ouma goes without giving it to him, the more desperate he seems to get. Ouma drags almost all the way out and pushes back in. The smack of their skin resonates throughout the room, closely followed by Saihara’s pleased whimper. Ouma does it again, and again, picking up speed as long as Saihara seems okay, and soon enough Saihara is slamming back into Ouma’s hips as he snaps forward, meeting each other halfway.

The movement is so rigorous that Ouma’s strap almost slips out a few times. While the sight and sounds of Saihara underneath him are delicious, he’s still present enough to ensure Saihara isn’t too far gone. Feeling a little disconnected, since he doesn’t gain any physical pleasure from the movement, he drapes himself over Saihara’s back, wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him along. Saihara pushes himself off the couch, lifting his head from the pillow, and sits back in Ouma’s lap. Ouma raises him by his hips and lets him drop back down, and the sound it rips from deep in Saihara’s chest is enough to send shivers down Ouma’s spine.

“ _Kokichi,_ right there, _please,_ keep fucking me like this, don’t stop-“

Ouma isn’t just fucking him, they’re fucking in tandem, Saihara bouncing back into Ouma’s lap and Ouma lifting him back up once he lands. He’s hitting Saihara’s prostate over and over if his reactions are any indication, and he fears Saihara getting sore or overstimulated, since Ouma doesn’t exactly have an upper limit on how much the strap can take.

He wraps an arm around Saihara’s waist to raise him and grind up into him, maintaining the angle to keep driving into his prostate, but takes Saihara’s cock in his other hand. “Come for me, baby. I wanna feel you around my cock.” 

The vigorous pumping on his shaft does him in, Saihara crying out, jerking almost violently in Ouma’s tight grasp as he rides out his orgasm. Ouma slows his movements as Saihara calms down and he wipes the second round of come on the blanket. He carefully pitches Saihara forward so he can slide the strap out of him, laying him on the couch cushions where he’ll be comfortable. He pulls the straps loose and kicks off the entire ensemble, making sure the slick toy is on Saihara’s already-dirty shirt so it doesn’t get lube on the rug. He returns to Saihara immediately, touching him all over and trying to see his sweaty face.

“Shuichi, hey,” he coos, “how was it?”

“Amazing,” Saihara mumbles, turning to look at Ouma with bleary eyes and a coy smile. He reaches his arms out and Ouma indulges the hug, pulling back into the first kiss he’s gotten since he left Saihara in bed early that morning. Saihara holds him there for a few more kisses but pushes himself to sit up.

“Be careful-”

“Ow,” Saihara complains, sitting at an awkward angle. Ouma giggles and holds out his hands.

“Let me help you. I think we should take a bath.” 

“Are _you_ okay? I wasn’t exactly gentle with you,” Saihara says, and he seems almost guilty.

“It was incredible. I’m a little sore, but that’s to be expected, right? You were perfect. Let me take care of you.” 

Their bath is quiet, serene. There are too many stolen kisses and sighs of contentment to speak. It’s not until later that Saihara has some coffee in him, the blanket has been put in the wash, and he’s resting his head on Ouma’s lap while watching reruns of their favorite crime show that he addresses the elephant in the room.

“You snuck out of the apartment on a Sunday morning to buy a sex toy?”

Ouma giggles and runs his fingers through Saihara’s hair. “My plan worked perfectly.”

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is lovingly dedicated to my minecraft spouse who wanted saihara to get railed with a strap. i delivered, but not before some of my own whorish ouma indulgence
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/togamitarai)


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